


hope for the hopeless

by blackkat



Series: Horoscope Drabbles [42]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 13:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17426870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: The light is low, and the whole world is quiet.





	hope for the hopeless

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Normal Horoscopes on Tumblr:
> 
> Ophiuchus: Dont strain yourself. You are running on emergency power as it is. The light may die for now, but you will sleep waiting.

The light is low, and the whole world is quiet.

Tenzō skims his fingers along the cool steel of the wall, half-covered in dripping vines and moss, breathes in the humid air and lets out a slow, careful exhale. The jungle is strangely silent here, as if all the animals are afraid of the ancient building, and it makes Tenzō’s skin itch, makes him want to turn around and pick up a run and keep going until he’s far away.

It feels old, here. It feels like this is a place he’s not to be, like he’s intruding on something sacred and ancient and cruel. Not­—not malicious, not really, but distant. Uncaring. It’s the same sort of regard a jaguar might give a squirrel, or a hawk a mouse. Something far smaller and necessary, but overall insignificant.

Tenzō doesn’t like it. he wishes briefly, desperately that the rest of the part hadn’t gotten separated before they could make it here. There are supposed to be twelve people in these ruins, but instead the rest of the group is on the other side of a mountain range and Tenzō is here alone. For the first time in years, he feels vulnerable, open. It’s like being under Danzō’s thumb again, and his next breath shakes out of him, followed by a shiver. It’s not cold—the jungle is humid, almost sweltering, but Tenzō feels _scared_.

He doesn’t get scared anymore, not really, and he hadn’t missed it at all.

Hissing out a low curse, he turns away from the ruined outer wall of the facility, deliberately steps over a stretch of collapsed grating and heads into the building. Or what _used_ to be a building—the whole thing is open to the sky, half-devoured by the jungle, with only scattered signs of human habitation. _Ancient_ habitation—if Kurenai is right, this is one of the last remaining outposts of the Builders, forgotten during the wars and the dark age that followed them. Whatever they find here, it will likely be something that the world hasn’t seen in a thousand years at least.

Kurenai and Nagato are hoping for technology, records, anything to help society grow. But Tenzō remembers how Danzō watched their party leave the city, recognizes the way Genma and Baki carry themselves. They're soldiers, and even if this is an international mission, even if there are more scientists than soldiers among their numbers, Tenzō knows that benevolent technology isn't the only thing they’ve been sent to find.

A plate shifts under his foot, only the barest hint of silver shine left to it in the spot where his foot knocked the dirt away, and Tenzō crouches down, checking it. It shifts when he digs his fingers under it, strains against grown-in roots and layers of earth, but when Tenzō hauls it up with a huff of effort it swings back on hinges that still work perfectly. Startled, Tenzō pulls back, then glances down at the dark hole that’s been revealed, biting his lip as he considers courses of action. He could wait for the others. He _should_ wait for the others. But—

Tenzō is somewhere between the others, not quite enough of a scientist now to forget that he was once a soldier, and a flicker of caution combined with a rising curiosity has him moving before he can think too hard about his choice. If there _are_ weapons down here, he can just…adjust things. Steal a few pieces to be sure they can't be reverse-engineered, or hide them if he’s really desperate.

There have been four world wars in the past sixty years. Tenzō is fairly sure that’s justification enough.

He drops through the opening without knowing what’s waiting for him, lands lightly on something solid that doesn’t ring like metal. Stone, maybe—it looks like a natural cellar built under the lab, left to time and the elements. Shafts of light slant down through the ceiling in spots where the upper level’s floor has given way, illuminating a long, wide space that’s too tangled with roots and creepers to echo when Tenzō steps forward. On either side of him are banks of machines, overgrown and still, some collapsed, some so rusted over it’s likely they’ll never move again. Tenzō thinks he catches a glimpse of an arm, dark-skinned and outstretched, trailing wires like its manufacture ended abruptly and without warning.

A part of Tenzō wants to think it’s a good thing that this place was taken unawares, or abandoned in a rush. There will be more to find if that’s the case, but—

Here and now, with the weight of an age on him and soft darkness all around him, it’s all too easy to remember that the Builders were people in their own right, that they lived and worked here and then fled this place, running to some unknown destination that likely didn’t save them in the end. Tenzō stares at the arm, wondering if it was a prosthetic, or maybe for an android, or an attempt at something else entirely, and then forces himself to turn away and keep moving.

There are more signs of a hasty departure, scattered around the room. Metal skeletons of chairs overturned, doors left standing open, machines that look like they stopped when the power finally failed instead of being turned off. Old, all of it, _ancient_ , and Tenzō wants to marvel at the preservation of it all, because that’s the whole reason they’ve come looking for this lab, but it adds to the eeriness. There's something so thoroughly abandoned about this place, and Tenzō has been in enough old temples and ruins to know it isn't the normal feeling he gets in such places. Something starker, more unsettling—this is terror’s aftereffects, and the result of an old war.

No weapons that he can see. Nothing that can be used for their next war, stolen from the past by people who have never learned the lessons they should have in school.

It’s odd, a little. The old records Nagato translated said this was a top-secret facility, something meant to build the greatest weapons in existence. There's no mark of violence here beyond the quick departure, though. All the damage has come from time, and—

Tenzō’s boot hits something that rings like glass, and it bounces forward, clattering across the patches of stone showing through the dirt and moss. It’s bright, catching the light as it rolls, facets casting rainbows across the walls. Swallowing a yelp, Tenzō lunges after it, scrambling forward to snatch it up before it can crash into something solid and fracture, and when he picks it up it’s feather-light in his hands, a perfect orb of some substance he’s never seen before. There are marks on it, as well, script that Tenzō recognizes but can't read. A form of the language the Builders used, but not one he’s familiar with; it will have to be left to Nagato, since he’s their language expert. It’s pretty, though. A strange thing t find here, in a place that supposedly built weapons, but—lovely.

Tenzō looks up from it, realizing that his mad dash not to let it break carried him across most of the room, and he’s standing in front of the far wall. The growth here is particularly thick, vines cascading down the stone until it’s entirely covered in a thick layer of green. Tenzō can't make out anything else, but he steps forward, hooks his fingers in a few of the lengths and tugs them, not hoping for much.

It’s entirely surprising, therefore, when they lift like a curtain in his hand. Like there's nothing holding them in place, or maybe they _can't_ manage to get a grip on the stone.

Except it isn't stone at all.

Tenzō stares, breath tangled in his throat, eyes wide. There's glass beneath the greenery, perfectly clean and clear even after so many centuries. It shines in the beams slanting through the ceiling, and the glare is sharp, makes Tenzō lean forward to get a better angle, and—

There's a body beneath the glass.

Tenzō’s fingers still on the surface of the glass, stunned as his eyes trace the line of a sleeping face. A man, dark-haired and short, with pale skin and long lashes. He’s wearing robes of dark blue, a symbol Tenzō recognizes stitched onto the shoulder. A red-and-white fan, small but distinct—the symbol of one faction of Builders, one half of the war. Not the one Tenzō expected, going by the records. The Uchiha mostly kept to the western part of the continent, while the Senju were the ones to take to the forests of the eastern part. This far east, almost in the ruins of Uzushio, seeing an Uchiha base is entirely bewildering. It shouldn’t _be here_.

The orb in Tenzō’s hand shimmers faintly, trapped lightning splinter through it, and he yelps, jerking back before he can stop himself. The sphere of glass falls, and Tenzō braces himself for the crash, for shattering glass—

Instead of hitting the floor, it spins in midair, then _rises_.

Tenzō gapes for about half a second, then scrambles for his camera, only belatedly remembering he lost it in the river yesterday. It’s already too late, regardless; the orb drifts straight across to the glass chamber, settles into a hollow in the very top of it with a sharp click, and _blazes_ with lightning. It’s bright enough that Tenzō hisses, throwing up a hand to shield his face, and it’s only when the glow fades out that he risks a glance up.

Dark eyes are open and watching him. The man inside the chamber is _alive_.

Tenzō’s brain shorts out, or maybe his common sense implodes. He _doesn’t_ run screaming from the building, which would be the smart thing to do, but freezes, staring at the man with wide eyes. He blinks back, slow and careful, and then raises a hand. A light touch has the glass covering him clicking out, a rush of pressure releasing. It slides back, and the man sits up.

“You got the power back on?” he asks, and dark eyes sweep around the room, a frown of clear confusion crossing his face. “Or…you found a backup?”

Backup power. That must be what the sphere was. Tenzō forces himself to straight, pulls himself up with careful deliberateness and steps forward. “A backup,” he says, and belated, the breathtaking _awareness_ of just what this is crashes down on him. “You—you're an Uchiha. How did you _survive_?” Remembers the script on the stone, unreadable, and wants to squawk, though he swallows it. “How can I _understand_ you?”

The man swings his legs out of the capsule, drops to the floor. He’s smaller than Tenzō by a little, but there's a strange fluid grace to him that strikes Tenzō as…off. Not human, almost. It makes him step back, but if the man notices, he doesn’t react.

“I'm Unit K211-481,” he says, like this should mean everything to Tenzō. “Kagami.” Pauses, looking Tenzō over, and cocks his head. “You're not using Standard.”

Mind-reading. This is some kind of mind-reading, and Tenzō is about to reconsider the possibility of running screaming. Taking a careful breath, he rubs his hands over his face, then glances up. “No,” he admits. “Only a few people can even read it now.”

There's a long, long moment of silence, and then Kagami looks away.

“I was too late,” he says softly. “I didn’t end the war, and now…they're gone, aren’t they?”

 _I didn’t end the war_ , Tenzō thinks, and something cold slides through his veins. The Uchiha were building a weapon in this base, something massively destructive, hidden away in Senju territory. Kagami isn't human, is some kind of android or cyborg or­—or _unit_ , and they meant him to end the war, and—

And he looks like he’s shattering, standing here in front of Tenzō. Like he’s breaking apart but doesn’t even know how.

Tenzō was a child taken for experiments, raised as a soldier, with nothing outside of that until Kakashi saved him. he can recognize the same in other people, and it makes him take a step forward, not even having to consider the motion. Makes him reach out, fingers finding soft blue cloth, curling over the shoulder beneath, and Kagami goes perfectly still under his touch.

“I'm sorry,” Tenzō says quietly, and means it. A world lost, and now Kagami is standing in the wreckage of the only piece that remains.

Kagami smiles, wry, tired. “I never wanted to fight,” he says, quiet enough to make it a confession. “But­—I would have.”

 _I know_ , Tenzō doesn’t say, even though he’s felt the same many times. He leans in, just a little, brushing their shoulders together, and Kagami lets out a choked laugh, half-strangled in his throat. Turning, he buries his face in Tenzō’s shirt, and his breath shakes out of him in a hard gust.

His skin is warm, and his hair is soft when Tenzō strokes it back from his face. The curls catch his fingers, and he closes his eyes, mourning the loss of a world he never knew, but which meant everything to the man in his arms.

“The world rebuilt,” he offers, and it’s pale, weak comfort, but it’s all he has.

There's a long moment of silence, and then Kagami raises his head with a wan smile. “I’d like to see it,” he says, and Tenzō swallows, realizing all over again what exactly Kagami is.

Their world will use any weapon it can get its hands on, and maybe it’s mad, maybe it’s unforgivably stupid, but Tenzō doesn’t want to see Kagami used as a weapon. Not when he’s already lost everything.

“Let me show you,” he says. “I—if we go now, if we hide, no one will know. I can help you. I can keep you safe.”

Kagami stares at him, dark eyes full of an awareness that’s as heavy as stone. “Keep me safe from myself,” he says, and lets his hand drop, catching Tenzō’s hand to tangle their fingers together. “And I’ll protect you from the rest of the world.”

 _I don’t want that_ , Tenzō almost says, but at the last minute he closes his mouth. People like them need missions. There's no avoiding that. And if Kagami wants to protect instead of fight, Tenzō is hardly about to argue with him.

“All right,” he agrees, and glances up at the surface, at the fading sunlight and the quiet jungle. Kakashi and the others will probably be here in a few hours­—now that they're so close, Tenzō knows they won't stop to make camp, but will keep pushing on to reach the complex. It feels a little like betrayal to run, but Tenzō _can't_ let any of the governments or _interested parties_ like Danzō get ahold of Kagami. A war-ending weapon is one thing, but—Kagami is a _person_ , regardless of what else he is.

“We should leave now,” he says, already trying to calculate the path back to civilization. It will be a long hike, but doable.

“All right,” Kagami says, and before Tenzō can even blink there's a rush of motion. Kagami catches him, lifts him right off his feet and surges upwards, an impossibly fast, high leap carrying them right up into the jungle and halfway up the closes tree. Tenzō yelps, grabbing onto Kagami's shoulders as Kagami kicks off the tree, flips up and over, and—

Cloth tears, and wide, dark wings catch the air, sweeping down and sending them soaring up. Tenzō has a moment of hysterical disbelief and absolute certainty he’s hallucinating at the bottom of a pit full of poisoned frogs somewhere, and then the flight is evening out, turning into a glide.

“Which way?” Kagami asks, as if he didn’t just grow wings and start _flying_.

Tenzō considers protesting, considers demanding answers, considers breaking down into tears of sheer overwhelmed stress. In the end, though, he calls on every last bit of emotional strength fifteen years of friendship with Kakashi has given him, and simply points north. Kagami makes a sound of cheerful agreement, tilting his wings and sending them swooping that way, and Tenzō very determinedly does not shriek or cry or ask Kagami to pinch him.

If he pinches himself, well. That’s a secret between himself and his minor emotional breakdown, and he’s certainly not telling.


End file.
